


home is not a place (it's a feeling)

by sleeplessstarryskies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Human Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Mild Language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Dean Winchester, Reader-Insert, Winchester Sister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 18:50:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17924363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessstarryskies/pseuds/sleeplessstarryskies
Summary: Cas wants to be a Hunter, desperately achingly so; he wants to fight alongside you, not cheer you on from the sideline. You, Sam, and Dean reciprocate his desire, but you also want Cas to be safe, to be properly prepared for the dangers and heartache that come with being a Hunter - that come with being human. You don't want him to end up as broken as you are.





	home is not a place (it's a feeling)

Since he's lost his Grace, Castiel has become a new sort of clumsy (though he's still fucking terrible with social cues). He stumbles over thin air - he's bumped into everyone at least twice this week, and it's only Thursday - and fumbles with any item placed in his hands, whether it's awkwardly thumbing through the discolored pages of a dusty book or shakily handling the smooth, well worn grip of a gun.

It's odd seeing him behave so... humanly. He's like a child stuck in an adult body, unsure of what to do with his too big figure, or a teenager whose finally hit his long awaited growth spurt, struggling to make his new gangly limbs cooperate. He's an Angel who took a sudden stop and a long drop - forced into an abrupt, lackluster transition that left him floundering in a sea of unfamiliarity without a life preserver, becoming another average in the data set of humanity.

When you see him slouch over a table, nose buried in a book, baggy sweatshirt hanging off his lean frame, it's hard for you to recall the foreign, untouchable - burn your eyes out if you gaze upon him - presence. Other times, however, as the three of you are reading up on the current monster of the week, Cas will join you and easily list off facts that had been absent from your reservoir of knowledge. He speaks with the sureness of a politician, sets his shoulders with confidence of the soldier he still is; his wisdom easily eclipses anything a mere human could have to offer.

In these moments, you can't help but notice how blue his eyes are - bright, vivid, and endless - and think that they're older than the oceans themselves, their depths capable of making you lose your breath. In these moments, you’re reminded of what he was - what he still is on the inside.

Despite the information Cas readily shares, Dean refuses to let him take part in the more... physical aspects of a Hunt - namely, kicking some supernatural ass. You see his point: Cas is now human, he's vulnerable and unable to just brush off injuries like he use to. He's never had a life he must fear for and protect, to fight desperately for; he’s now burdened with a fragile existence that can fade away from a snapped neck or blood loss or a bullet or or...

You derail that dark train of thought before it could tip over the cliffside of despair (you already have enough grief to last you several lifetimes). You know Dean worries about Cas, so do you and Sam, and none of you want to see him get hurt. You don’t think any of you could bear losing another friend, especially if it was because of your own carelessness (you won’t allows others to take the fall for your failures, not anymore).

Cas wants to be a Hunter, desperately achingly so; he wants to fight alongside you, not cheer you on from the sideline. You also think that he doesn't like being left alone, stuck in the musty confines of a one-star motel room or the fortified walls of the Bunker, wondering if the three of you will return in one piece - he wants to be able to help you, protect you, keep you safe like he promised to when he first rebelled. You wholeheartedly understand Cas’ desire, you despise when Sam and Dean try to exclude you from (in their eyes) a particularly nasty case, but he's not ready... not yet.

For now, it's baby steps, taking your time in teaching him the ropes until he's properly prepared; there’s no rush since, for once, the fate of the world isn’t attached to a ticking time bomb (e.g. the apocalypse). If you're trying to teach your kid how to swim, you don't just throw them into a lake and hope they float. No, you have to nurture Cas’ growth, display the patience that your father lacked, consumed by his own thirst for vengeance.

(In hindsight, Cas' frustration at the sluggish pace of his learning was a bit funny; you would’ve thought that a celestial being who's several hundred - thousand? - years old would have more self-restraint, go figure.)

Before you leave, the three of you always reassure Cas in your own ways. Dean claps him firmly on the shoulder, grinning brightly at the stoic male. Sam pulls the man close, patting the stunned man firmly on the back. You settle with a small smile, catching his stormy eyes, and murmur a soft, hopefully reassuring, "We'll be fine."

Despite all of your efforts, Cas' countenance still creases, worry lines carving deep grooves into the canvas of his face, frowning at your retreating figures.

A particularly frisky nest of vampires leaves you and your brothers a bit more battered and banged up than usual. Cas' displeasure deepens and he tackles his studies with a new fervor. There is a determined set to his furrowed brow as he shakily field-strips a gun, refusing to give up even when Dean grows frustrated with his graceless (heh - too soon?) movements.

Sometimes, during your midnight strolls through the corridors - if insomnia's a bitch, then nightmares are a cold, unforgiving bastard - you'll see light peeking from beneath his door, and though you resist the urge to poke your head inside, you can hear the familiar clicking of a barrel locking into place. Other nights, when your body aches too much to move, but your mind is still frantically buzzing from the day's events (and a past that you refuse to dwell on), you tap idly at the dim screen of your phone, swearing you can hear the distant popping of gunfire (or maybe popcorn, for all you knew).

Several weeks of tutoring, and persistent wheedling on Cas’ part, finally pushes Dean into setting up Cas’ final exam in the firing range (it would be pointless, not to mention a bit insulting, to test him on the lore when he, in fact, is part of the lore himself). An - in your opinion, overly abundant - assortment of targets has been set up, big and small, moving and at a standstill - really, it was a bit of an overkill (mother hen mode activated).

To your delight, Cas manages to land a bullseye with nearly every target in play - the ones in motion were struck just at the edge of the center ring and, in your books, that’s considered a success. However, Dean continues to look conflicted, mouth pursued in a thin, taut line. You and Sam lock eyes, coming to a wordless agreement, and decide to give Cas a helping hand - really, it was the least he deserved after all of the effort he'd put forth. One deadly double dose of puppy dog eyes later, Cas is given clearance from a defeated Dean to join them on their next case.

The night is full of celebrations - fueling Cas’ elation and softening Dean’s sour mood. You and Sam knock your fists together, victorious - and you gleefully get to watch a former Angel of The Lord get drunk off of cheap, gas station beer.

You label this day a success.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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